


'Kiss A Ginger' Day

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Banter, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Jealous Matt Murdock, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Foggy Nelson, Short & Sweet, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: It's the 12th of January in Hell's Kitchen, a date which some people know as Kiss A Ginger Day. One of the Murdock men decides to make Foggy Nelson pucker up.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Mike Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	'Kiss A Ginger' Day

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, the 5th of November is National Ginger Day. But the 12th of January is Kiss A Ginger Day. So I wrote this little piece, set in January. Obviously, I'm basing Matt and Mike off the comic books, where they're redheads. And Mike Murdock is, and always has been, a real person in this fic.

It was January the twelfth when Mike Murdock kissed Foggy. Foggy remembers the date because apparently, it was important.

* * *

He’s dashing to the office, one hand holding his satchel in place, the other curled around his thermos. He thinks he’s got that Hell’s Kitchen walk down to a tee — walking quickly and with purpose, your jaw firm and your eyes set straight ahead. Don’t linger near any alleyways and never stop, even if somebody tries to get your attention. Although he hates to admit it, the streets are a lot safer since his best friend threw on a hideous jumpsuit and horned mask, but Foggy still walks with purpose and his mind on his business. He’s been mugged before, he knows what to watch out for.

Or so he thinks. 

Because as he’s walking, passing the mouth of an open alleyway, a pale hand shoots out and pulls him in, and he gasps, until he recognises the shock of red hair. And the fashion sense.

“Hey, Fogster,” Mike says, by way of greeting. They barely speak, only when Mike turns up to see Matt. His visits are always brief and follow the same basic script. He needles Matt, tries to flirt with Karen and laughs at Foggy. It’s usually Matt who snaps and kicks Mike out, but sometimes it’s Foggy and on one memorable occasion, Karen. Foggy isn’t sure what Mike does for money (he’s never seen the guy in the same piece of clothing twice, Mike must have some way of funding his neverending shopping trips) but he suspects it’s illegal. Foggy suspects that if Nelson, Murdock & Page was a successful business that got paid in money instead of baked goods, Mike would forever be nagging Matt to lend him money.

His shirt is an eye-watering shade of lime green, clashing horribly with his hair. His hair’s getting a bit long; It flops in his eyes. “It’s January twelfth.”

“Okay?”

“So…” Mike ducks his head, avoiding eye contact. Coy body language that is so unlike him, that Foggy can’t help but feel a stirring of alarm.

“So what? What’s so important about—”

Mike can move when he wants to. Damn ninja Murdock men and their tiger-like reflexes. Mike grabs Foggy by the collar and shoves him against that grotty, graffitied wall in the time that it takes to inhale a breath.

His lips are soft, kind of slippery but impatient, grinding on Foggy’s mouth, sparking heat with the friction. All Foggy can do is stand there and let it happen, like watching some natural disaster level a city. Stand there, and _be_ . Be a receptacle for Mike’s hunger, for his urgency, for his teeth and _fuck,_ he bit Foggy’s lip. Foggy whimpers, a sound he hates making, and Mike pulls back. Those Disney-blue eyes are a little wild, but his lips quirk into a smile.

Foggy unconsciously runs his tongue over his lips, and Mike tracks the movement with his eyes. His mouth feels warm and sticky and tastes of some artificial fruit, cherry or strawberry. That figures. Mike’s always smearing chapstick on his mouth, and then admiring his own reflection.

Mike leans forward to peck him on the lips once more, and Foggy _lets_ him, why does he let him do that? When Mike steps back, actually puts an appropriate bit of distance between their bodies, he’s smiling smugly, like the cat that caught the cream — no, actually, the cat that caught the canary. Yanked it from its cage and is now batting it around with a clawed paw. Foggy needs to sit down.

“You’d better get to work.” Mike says gently, and then he darts off, slips into an alleyway and Foggy barely got a chance to glare at the back of that stupid ginger head before he’s gone.

* * *

When he enters the office, only Karen is there. Good. He doesn’t think he could handle Matt right now. Seeing Mike’s blue eyes and red hair on the face of his best friend. And Matt would probably smell Mike on Foggy’s breath. Which is so disgusting, he doesn’t even want to consider it. Stupid Matt and his invasive, bloodhound nose.

His lips still tingle. Mike shaves more regularly than Matt does, but he’d had a bit of gingery-gold morning stubble poking out of his jaw, and Foggy’s chin burns from the rough scrape of it. He absently runs a finger over his swollen lips and catches Karen frowning at him.

“Karen, is today important?”

“You’ve got that meeting with Mr. Wilbur at three. And Matt’s supposed to be bringing doughnuts today, but he’s late. Why?”

“Open up Google for me, would you? I want to look something up.”

* * *

Foggy paces around, swilling a mouthful of black coffee around his mouth, hoping it’ll chase away some of Mike’s scent. He’s desperate enough to squirt a couple of drops of Karen’s lavender perfume on his shirt collar, even though that she sniggers when he does.

“Okay, here we go,” Karen’s tech-savvy but her computer is stuttering with the need to update, and it seems to take an interminably long amount of time for her page to load. “January, twelfth,” she says as she types, her nails clicking on the keys. “Twelfth day in the Gregorian calendar..” She reads aloud. “Ooh, Zayn Malik’s birthday. Didn’t know he’s a Capricorn…”

“Focus, woman!”

“Sorry. It’s—oh!”

Foggy doesn’t bother for her to tell him, instead, he leans over her shoulder, most likely spewing foul coffee breath in her face. His eyes anxiously scan the page of results and he sees—

“Kiss A Ginger Day?” they read it aloud in unison as if they’re a dynamic duo in some zany sitcom. But this is Foggy’s real life, thank you, and he feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel. 

“Is that a thing?” Foggy demands and Karen’s fingers fly over the keys.

“I guess? Huh. So, that’s why Mike…?”

“Kissed me…” Foggy mutters. He drops to the floor, leaning against Karen’s leg as if he’s an exhausted child and she giggles.

“Technically, you should be the one kissing him, because _he’s_ the ginger in this situation. But then, Mike always does stuff his own way, doesn’t he?”

“What does he want from me? What did he think was going to happen?”

Karen opens her mouth to speak but at that second, her phone chimes with a text and her eyes flicker over the screen. “Matt got the doughnuts, he’s coming here.”

“Right. Right. How do I smell?”

“Like coffee, my favourite perfume and sweat.” Karen drags a few fingers through Foggy’s hair, smoothing it and then straightens his tie. He hadn’t even noticed it was askew. “You’re fine. You haven’t done anything wrong. Matt won’t care.”

“You’re right,” Foggy murmurs, hoping for casual but failing miserably. “He won’t care.”

* * *

It’s stupid, really. How long has he been Matt’s friend? Foggy was always a hopeless romantic, to the amusement of his siblings and classmates, but he’d never been sure about love at first sight. Until he heard that voice and saw that face. Matt. Foggy hadn’t had a hope of coming out of there alive.

And now, because the universe hates Foggy Nelson, the twin he tolerates is the one who kisses him. And the twin he loves considers Foggy to be nothing more than a very dear friend.

“You know,” Karen says, the sound coming out of a jerky twist of her lips. A sideways remark, like she’s telling a secret. “ _Matt’s_ ginger—”

Foggy shoots her a look and she shrugs, but thankfully drops it.

* * *

Matt’s footsteps sound like the ringing of a death knell, but Foggy doesn’t dare breathe on his palm and smell it, because Matt would fucking hear him. He can only taste coffee, bitter and burnt.

Matt greets them and cracks open the box. He’s bought half a dozen doughnuts, each one is different and Foggy and Karen have a spirited tussle for the strawberry-filled one. He assumes it’s strawberry because the icing is pink.

Foggy lets Karen have the strawberry one because he’s a gentleman and she’s got him in a headlock. While she daintily eats her snack, somehow managing not to get icing down her blouse, Foggy sidles up to Matt.

“Thanks for this, buddy, I had a craving. What flavours did you get?”

“Uh, I asked for random flavours. Let me—” Matt takes a deep sniff to suss out the flavours, and Foggy freezes, but if Matt has smelt anything unpleasant, he doesn’t comment on it. “On the top row, far left is vanilla, middle is plain, right _was_ strawberry. And the bottom row goes peanut butter, middle is caramel and—” He sniffs again and if Foggy hadn’t been standing so close to him, he wouldn’t have seen the way Matt’s jaw clenched, just for a second. “—uh, r-raspberry.”

Foggy waits a couple of seconds but Matt doesn’t add anything else. If anything, he remains standing there, straight-backed and square-shouldered, perfectly professional in his black suit. So, Foggy brazens it out with a “Sweet! Thanks, man!” and crams the raspberry doughnut into his mouth.

* * *

Despite the odd moment from earlier, Matt is soon back to his normal self, snagging the plain doughnut while Foggy and Karen make faces at him.

“Plain? You’re just a Catholic martyr, through and through, aren’t you?” Foggy snickers. He’s not as sophisticated as Karen and has somehow managed to squirt a dollop of raspberry jelly on his shirt. His white shirt. Ugh.

“Plain is good. It’s not overpowering!” Matt laughs, and Foggy believes that everything is going to be okay.

* * *

“Foggy, you got plans tonight?”

Foggy glances up, to see Matt standing over his desk. Damn ninja skills, how is a blind guy able to creep up on him like that? Matt’s there with a pleasant smile gracing his features but he’s holding his folded-up cane in his hands in what can only be described as a death grip. His knuckles flash white, as white as the cane.

“Nope, no plans. Free as a bird. Did you want to hang out? We could go over the Wilbur case?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could watch a movie at your place?”

Watching a movie with Matt means finding a DVD with the most ludicrous plot and narrating it, while Matt giggles on Foggy’s shoulder. The addition of alcohol can turn it into a drinking game. Foggy grins, an insistent tug of the mouth.

“Sounds good. Bring some beer? Maybe we can get some takeout.”

“Yeah, okay,"

* * *

It was a tradition now, finding the worst movies with cheesy plots, bad dialogue and wooden actors. It was worth it, just to see Matt’s sucked-a-lemon expression and hear his criticism.

He did briefly consider Fifty Shades Of Grey, but then figured sitting through a sex movie with your secret crush would be opening a can of worms.

When he opens the door to see Matt Murdock smiling, and carrying a sixer of beer, he thinks that Matt has no right to look that heart-stoppingly beautiful. Casual and relaxed in a dark grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he looks effortlessly cool like a figure in a clothing commercial. Foggy glances down at his bleach-stained Simpsons t-shirt from college and feels underdressed. 

“So, tell me,” Matt says as he throws himself down on the couch. He only winces a little, which must mean he didn’t hit it too hard with Daredevilling, the night before. It’s weird, considering that just this morning, Mike kissed Foggy. He’s already beginning to forget what he’d said, but he can still recall the feel of those lips. Foggy realises that Matt is talking and guiltily shoves thoughts of slippery-sweet lips and flaming red hair to a dark recess of his mind. “—another _Sharknado_ movie? A vampire gorefest? Remember when you cried watching Barbie?”

“Hey, _Barbie Magic of Pegasus_ is a solid motion picture. Its merits are lost on you, ‘cause you never had a younger sister who used to bully you into watching that stuff.”

“She used to bully you…” Matt gasps, not bothering to mask his laughter. “She was tiny!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball.”

“Oh, shall I take it to mean we’re going to be watching Star Wars?”

“Hell no. It’s a weeknight, I don’t watch Star Wars on a weeknight. It’s a franchise that deserves the weekend! Nah, today, we’ll be watching a movie I found on a listicle of Rotten Tomatoes’ lowest rated movies. It’s got sorcery, vampires and intrigue and it is called… _Bloodrayne._ ”

“I’m already intrigued,” Matt says, cracking open a can. He takes a deep glug, pulling a face. “Set it up, Foggy.”

* * *

 _Bloodrayne_ is every bit as bad as Rotten Tomatoes claimed. Foggy narrates as best as he can, and then makes Matt narrate a section which proves to be a great source of entertainment. Matt’s super-senses and super-hearing are useless if the people aren’t actually in the room, and he quickly loses the thread of the plot. 

He’s not drunk, he’s not even approaching drunk because it’s a weeknight and they both have responsibilities and no longer have the wonderfully springy stamina of teenagers, but it’s nice. It’s goofy fun and Matt drinks more than Foggy, leaning more heavily on his shoulder, nuzzling Foggy’s collar.

Foggy’s had two beers and Matt’s had...whoa, Matt’s had four. The cardboard package that held the beers is on the floor by Foggy’s sneaker, and the plastic ring is on his coffee table. He idly makes a mental note to cut it up before he throws it in the garbage (Candace’s current craze is animal rights and she’s emailed Foggy enough literature about it to make him feel guilty) and he turns his head to see Matt has moved closer on the couch. A lot closer.

He shouldn't stare.

Red lips, wet with beer, and the bottom lip is caught between his front teeth. At some point, Matt had discarded his glasses, because those huge blue eyes are completely unveiled. They might not be able to see him but they’re blue as the ocean and deep enough to drown in. Too close and too big and Foggy really doesn’t know what to do here.

“Matt?” he says cautiously.

The beer is heavy on Matt’s breath. “Didn’t think you’d want to hang out tonight. Thought you might have plans.”

"Yeah, I've got a hot date with Black Widow, didn't you hear? She's decided she's looking for an overweight, underpaid lawyer who drinks too much."

“I meant with him. My brother.”

 _Oh._ “Buddy…” Foggy starts, but Matt scoffs, a harsh, ugly sound that’s at odds with the pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to rake you over the coals. You’re a grown man, you can kiss who you want.”

“Thanks. But you know...me and Mike, there’s nothing there. He’s too crazy for me. And let’s face it, I’m too boring for him.”

“You’re not boring. You’re never boring. Did _he_ say you were boring?” Matt’s trying to get up, possibly to defend Foggy’s honour from Matt’s own brother, which is sweet of him but also completely moronic. Foggy stops him, pushes gently on his chest and Matt sinks back down on the couch.

“He didn’t say much of anything. He made a big deal about it being the twelfth of January, he kissed me and that was it.”

Matt smiles but it's not so much a smile as it’s something to do. A perfunctory pull of the lips, as if he could honestly fool Foggy into thinking he’s happy? “Kiss A Ginger Day. He texted me.”

“Did he tell you he kissed—"

“No, I worked that out for my own.”

“Oh.”

“There’s really nothing between you and him?”

“Trust me, he’s not my type.”

“You don’t like redheads?”

“I don’t like _lunatics,_ ” Foggy fires back, and Matt chuckles but he seems lighter, more relaxed, as if Foggy's words have unwound some tangled strings inside him.

“So,” Foggy says. When Matt doesn’t answer, he jiggles his foot against Matt’s. “Kiss A Ginger Day. Did anybody kiss you?”

“No. But the day isn't over yet, so there’s still hope.”

“I don’t know about that, buddy, it’s—holy shit, it’s ten minutes to midnight? I thought it was, like, ten PM. Unless a pretty lady is hiding under my couch, looks like you’ll be spending this day alone...”

Matt’s lips are warm, rougher than Mike’s _(don’t think about Mike)_ and when he kisses, slow and deeply, his hands curve around Foggy’s face, his fingers stroking his cheekbones like he’s some precious relic that can only handle the most delicate of touches. 

Foggy’s stunned, his brain takes a few seconds to log back online, he must be some old, dusty PC and Matt’s kiss has knocked the ethernet cable loose. But he plugs back in, and kisses, just as sweetly, just as deeply. Pours every ounce of love into that kiss because if it’s the only thing he’s going to get from Matt, he’s going to make damn sure it leaves an impression on the man.

Matt’s kissing him like he’ll die if he won’t, he’s sighing into Foggy’s lips like they’re the silk sheets he wraps himself up in every night. His calloused fingers are cradling Foggy’s cheeks and his knee keeps knocking into Foggy’s. He _feels_ like he wants this. But he can’t want it...can he?

Foggy pulls back, with some regret. Matt’s lips are even redder than before, if that can be possible. Both men are breathing very hard.

“Just so we’re clear...is this some posturing, macho thing? Like two dogs fighting over the same chew toy? You only want to play with me when you see somebody else playing with me?”

“No, no,” Matt whispers and he sounds wrecked. “I’ve always wanted you, but I never thought...and there were so many secrets I was keeping from you. My powers, the fighting, and Mike. I’m sorry. I never thought I’d get to have this. Have a business with you, be able to touch you like this. I never thought...and then, when _he_ kissed you...it was like he was taunting me with all the things I’ve wanted but couldn’t have.”

“I don’t want him, never have. Only you, Matty.”

“I love you,”

“...Oh, wow.”

Matt cringes, and his fingers slip on Foggy’s face. Foggy has to grab him before Matt can shy away, the badass vigilante has the tendency to morph into a nervy colt when faced with rejection.

“Too soon?”

“No, Matt, it’s not. I love you, too, you big dummy. I think I’ve loved you since we first met. I always had this feeling that wherever you went, I had to follow. You’ve got me hooked, line and sinker, you know that, man?”

“Good,” Matt tells him, pulling him closer. “Because I’m never letting go.”


End file.
